


The Net

by DaniVictorious



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:36:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6827995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaniVictorious/pseuds/DaniVictorious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wakes up on the Internet--actually, physically, on the Internet--with no memory of who she is. Luckily, there are people around who are more than willing to help her. Unluckily, the Internet holds far more secrets and dangers than she would have ever believed. The journey home begins with a single step. </p><p>Waking up is just the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Lord of the Memes

I walk to the edge of the platform and stare into the Void. 

I can’t tell how far it goes, where it begins or ends. It’s just there, above, below, and around me: an all-encompassing, never-ending, deep, dark grayish-blue. I feels familiar, like I should know what it is, but I can’t remember why. Frowning deeply, I look away, returning my attention to the platform.

It’s the only thing that exists in the Void, and it doesn’t make any sense. It’s white and flat and rectangular, suspended in the emptiness with no obvious support. Ten steps and I’ve crossed the width of it; twelve, and I’ve walked the length. I keep moving along the perimeter, trying to keep myself occupied. If I stay still for too long, I start thinking and if I start thinking, I begin to remember—or, rather, not remember. My mind is completely blank. I don’t know who or where I am, what this place is or how I got here. If I think too long, I remember that I can’t remember. I can’t remember anything at all.

I shake my head, forcibly ending that line of thinking. I went down that path when I first woke up here, and, frankly, it didn’t end well. Now I try to stay focused on the things I do know instead of dwelling on all that I don’t. For example, I know that I’m not dreaming. I’ve pinched myself a dozen times and it’s done nothing to wake me up. I also know that I’m alone. Despite all my squinting and staring, I can see nothing out in the blue. It’s just me, the Void, and the platform. Nothing else exists.

That changes in an instant. 

I blink and it’s suddenly there: another platform, identical to mine, just a foot away. For a moment, I’m too shocked to move, but curiosity gets the better of me. Without thinking too hard about the potential consequences, I cross the small gap that separates the new platform from mine. As soon as I do, another platform appears on the other side. It seems to have a cascading effect as a line of white rectangles suddenly blink into existence, one after the other, stretching into the distance and out of sight. 

I now have two options. I can either stay here, where things are at least somewhat familiar, or I can follow the platforms and see where they lead. Again, my curiosity wins out. With a final glance backward, I set off down the new path, leaving my original platform behind.

I haven’t gone very far before I realize that these new platforms are different from the one I woke up on. The first few have words on them, ranging from inspirational quotes to ridiculous stories. Then come the pictures. They’re large and take up most of the space on the rectangles they occupy; I have to lean back and tilt my head a bit to see them properly. The frowning cat and the tan dog are almost familiar, and I half-recognize the handsome man with the pouty lips and brilliant green eyes. It’s just a feeling—my memories are still out of reach—but I’m close to remembering something. I’m sure of it.

The moving picture is mesmerizing. In it, a dark-haired man in a long coat stands on the roof of a building. He raises his arms and leans forward, falling over the edge and out of view. It’s a very short scene, but it plays on a loop and I watch it again and again. I can’t see his face, but I’m sure that I know him. I crouch down to try to see more. A gust of wind rushes past me. It’s cold and damp and smells like rain, and it carries the sounds of a city. My breath catches in my throat. That is familiar: not the silence of the Void, but the sound of life and a place where there are people. Maybe this moving picture is a way to get back to wherever it is that I came from. I reach out, watching in stunned silence as my hand slides right through the platform and into the looping scene. I can feel the damp, chilly air on my skin and I realize that this is a doorway, a way to get out of the Void. I lean forward, preparing to go through.

“Please don’t do that.”

I yelp and yank my hand from the scene, leaping to my feet. My eyes dart to the speaker. He’s standing near the edge of the platform: a tall and imposing figure silhouetted against the Void. A hood is drawn low over his face, obscuring it from view; the hem of his long, black cloak swirls dramatically around his ankles. I’ve been wishing for the company of another person since I woke up in this place, but the intimidating newcomer is not what I’d had in mind. 

“That’s the Sherlock fandom,” he says, tilting his head to indicate the moving picture. “Go in there and it’ll take forever for me to pull you back out. I mean, I could do it—I’ve done it before—but I’d rather not waste the time or energy, if it’s all the same to you.”

It occurs to me then that he doesn’t sound intimidating. He isn’t threatening me, just warning me—and rightly so. Now that he’s put a name to what’s in the moving picture, I remember it completely. I’ve been down the rabbit hole that is the Sherlock fandom before (though, I think, not in such a literal sense) and I know firsthand how hard it is to find a way back out. I look at the newcomer again. He’s tall, yes, but he isn’t actually using his height. His posture is loose and casual—slouched, even. He isn’t looming or deliberately trying to frighten me. The hood and cloak are the only menacing things about him, and his voice actually sounds familiar. It’s crisp and pleasant, the sort of voice you wouldn’t mind listening to for hours. I have a feeling that I have spent hours listening to him, though I can’t remember when or where.

“What?” he asks when I’ve been silent too long. “What’s wrong? Are you—oh. Yeah. Probably shouldn’t have come at you looking like this. The Dementor-slash-Ringwraith-y look doesn’t exactly scream ‘I’m here to help.’ Hang on.” He tugs his hood off and unfastens the front of his cloak, throwing the excess fabric back over his shoulders. “There. Better?”

I nod. Much. He’s not the slightest bit threatening anymore and, having seen his face, I’m sure that I know him. His warm brown eyes and dimpled smile are incredibly familiar, more so than anything I’ve seen yet. I have vague memories of sitting across from him, just listening to him talk. I watch as he runs a hand through his dark brown hair, adjusting the fringe that angles across his forehead. He’s had that cut for a while, I think—sometimes longer, sometimes shorter, but always the same style, just like…just like who? I frown. I can’t remember. 

“Right. So time for introductions, I think. I’ll go first.” He clears his throat and straightens his shoulders, standing a bit taller as he extends a hand. “Hi. I’m Dan.” 

I take the proffered hand, mind reeling as things snap back into place. I know him. We’re friends—we must be. The hazy memories of sitting across from him are clearer now. I remember him telling me about his bad habits and miscellaneous fears, things he likes and doesn’t like, times he’s embarrassed himself and adventures he’s had. I know that I know him. I just don’t know how.

“I remember you,” I tell him. “Dan Howell, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” he smiles. A beat of silence passes. “Well go on, then. Your turn. Introduce yourself.”

“I—“My stomach drops. The emptiness looms large again as I remember how much I don’t know. I can’t remember my name. I don’t know who I am. My chest feels tight and it’s suddenly difficult to breathe. “I can’t.”

“Hey. Hey, it’s all right,” Dan says. He places a hand on my shoulder, grounding me. “It’s easy to forget who you are here and, once you've forgotten, it’s hard to remember. It’ll come back eventually.”

“You know who you are,” I point out.

“Yes, because I’ve been here longer,” he says. “When I first woke up here, I couldn’t remember anything, either. Things come back slowly, bit by bit. You have to wait for something to trigger it. You remember Sherlock now, don’t you? And you remember me.”

“Yeah,” I nod. Then: “Wait. I remember you. We’re friends. Do you know who I am?”

He looks at me for a long moment before shaking his head. “No, sorry. That doesn’t necessarily mean anything—there are still some gaps in my memory—but…”

“But I don’t seem familiar,” I finish for him.

“Sorry,” he says again, looking almost as disappointed as I feel. “I still need something to call you, though. What do you think of ‘Anonymous’—‘Anon’ for short?”

I shrug. It’s as good an option as any.

“Anon it is,” Dan says. He takes a few steps back, giving me some space. “Let’s try something else, something that should be a little easier to remember. Do you know where we are?” 

He’s calm and patient, so I try to be, too. I return his smile as best I can and take a look around. The Void is the key here, I think. That particular shade of blue…well, it means something. It’s unique. And the white platforms—the white rectangles—and all of the things they contain are familiar. I’ve seen them before. Never from this angle, never this close, but…no. It can’t be.

“Tumblr,” I say, staring into the Void. I turn disbelieving eyes on Dan. “That’s impossible.”

He shrugs. “And yet here we are.”

“But I…” I wave my hands in helpless frustration. “How?”

“I don’t know,” Dan says honestly. “I’ve spent some time trying to figure it out, but I don’t have any answers for you. We’re here. That’s all can say for sure.” He shrugs again, like it’s perfectly normal, and turns in a swirl of black cloak. The move is sharp and dramatic, but most of its effect is lost to the monochromatic llama print on his t-shirt and the black skinny jeans that seem to be just barely clinging to his hips despite his use of a belt. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Go?” I repeat, jogging after him. “Go where? This is Tumblr. This is the Internet. This shouldn’t even be possible.” I don’t know much, but I know that for certain. The sheer ridiculousness of my situation makes my head spin. “The only place I want to go is home.”

“Sure,” he says in a reasonable tone. “And where is that, exactly?”

“I—“ I swallow hard, frowning. “I don’t know.”

“Right,” Dan nods. “And until you do, I can’t get you there. I can help you, though. I can keep you safe while you’re trying to remember who you are.” 

“Keep me safe? Safe from what?”

Dan’s face goes tight. “Memes.”

“I’m sorry. Did you say memes?” The word is enough to conjure up dozens of images. Bad Luck Brian. Philosoraptor. Overly Attached Girlfriend. “I passed Doge and Grumpy Cat a little while back. Are you saying they could’ve attacked me?”

Dan nods. “They could’ve. They will. When you passed them, you were marked. We’ll have to hurry.”

“Ha.” My smile feels strained and slightly manic. “I’m sorry. I just…I need a minute.”

I sit down by a text post, head spinning. I’m walking through Tumblr—which is impossible, by the way—with someone I know (but not really, according to him). There’s also an inevitable meme attack looming somewhere in the not-so-distant future. 

What. The. Hell. 

“Minute’s over,” Dan says. “Time to go.”

We walk in silence. Dan is on edge, carefully watching ahead of us and frequently glancing behind. His hands keep straying to his belt, checking and rechecking for the presence of weapons he doesn’t think I can see. We pass a few more moving pictures (GIFs, I realize) that serve as windows to parts unknown. A waterfall in a lush, green forest. Palm trees swaying on a white-sand beach. A blue box flying among the stars. All of them seem as good a place as any to hide from our impending Death by Meme, but Dan doesn’t so much as glance at them. 

“So,” I say eventually. “Where are we going?”

“To see a friend of mine,” Dan replies. “His blog is the safest place I know. If we make it there, the memes won’t be a problem anymore. They won’t be able to follow us in.”

Something prickles at the back of my mind. “Who’s your friend?”

“He calls himself ‘Knight Blogger’ here. Isn’t that ridiculous? He can’t pull that off. He just can’t. He’s too…” Dan waves a hand, searching for the word, then shrugs. “Anyway. Knight Blogger. That’s how he insists I introduce him when I’m bringing in a new Anon. Says it makes him sound cool.” A burst of laughter, a dimpled grin. “I think it’s hilarious.”

My eyes narrow. “What do you mean ‘a new Anon’? I thought I was Anon.”

“You are,” Dan shrugs. “You’re the…eighty-seventh, I think? Yeah. Probably, anyway. We’ve been doing this for a while. I go out and find people, I take them to my friend’s blog, they stay there until they remember something, and we send them home. Easy, and everyone wins.”

I frown as bits of what I thought I knew about my situation fall away. 

Dan looks at me. “What, you thought you were the only one?”

“I assumed.”

He stops, like that surprises him, and jogs to catch up. “Does it bother you? That you’re not the only Anon, I mean.”

“A little.” 

On the one hand, it means he knows what he’s doing. He can get me home, wherever that may be. On the other hand, I’m just one of the dozens of people he’s helped. He’s the only person I have in this place—the one thing I have to cling to—and I’m Anon Eighty-Seven, just another checkmark on his list. 

“Hey, are you alright?” Dan asks, frowning at me. “You look a little—“

A howl rises up from somewhere behind us, long and deep and low. It's a warning to enemies, a call to arms.

Dan swears, grabs my wrist, and starts to run.

“Look for the Knight Blogger tag,” he shouts as he pulls me. His expression is grim and his eyes are fierce. “That’s our way out.”

Tags. Right. Like the #myaesthetic under the waterfall GIF or the #doctorwho under the blue box in space. 

“Will the tag get us to your friend?” I ask. 

There are shouts and growls and dozens of running feet behind us, steadily gaining. I don’t dare look back.

“No,” Dan shakes his head, “but it’ll get us closer. We’ll be able to find the link to his blog from there and—watch out!” 

He kicks my legs out from under me, tugs me close, and pulls a gun from his hip in one fluid move. We fall in slow motion. An inky black creature sails over us, its razor-like teeth slicing through air where our heads would have been. It looks like a person drenched in oil or tar, its only defining feature that horrible mouth. Dan fires off two shots, hitting the thing center mass. It screeches and misses its landing, sailing over the side of the platform and into the Void. Time resumes its normal pace as Dan and I hit the white of the platform. He releases me and rolls away, using the momentum to get to one knee and fire his gun twice more. I hear screeches and howls and Dan shouting at me to get up. Then I’m on my feet and we’re running again. 

“Don’t look,” Dan says. “Just go.”

But I have to see. I have to know.

There’s an army of them behind us: human and animal shapes cloaked in dripping tar-black. Their cries are an earsplitting cacophony of bloodlust and rage and their gnashing razor-teeth promise death. These are the memes I know, twisted and made unrecognizable in the very depths of Tumblr—or so Dan says as he drags me along. He snatches a grenade from his belt, pulls the pin, and throws it into the heart of the mob. It explodes in a shower of Tumblr tags, shattering twenty memes and forcing the others to fall back. I look at Dan, mouth gaping in disbelief.

“You’re using tags to fight them!” I realize as he ejects a clip from his gun and reloads. The gun, the grenade, the mines he’s leaving to cover our trail…they’re all fueled by a single tag. I raise an eyebrow. “Really, Dan? Hashtag-YOLO?”

“I’m using it ironically!” he shouts, defensive, as he plants another mine. 

We keep going. There’s some space between us and the memes now, but it won’t be enough. They’re gaining.

“Look, there!” I shout, pointing to the platform directly ahead of us. 

Its content—a reblogged GIF of a lion mid-roar—isn’t so different from other things we’ve run past, but beneath it I can see the tag we’re searching for: #besafe #staystrong #knightblogger. Dan nods and pulls me toward it. 

“Stay close,” he says. “We need to step on it together or one of us will be left behind.”

I wince as a cry goes up from the memes behind us. Be left alone with those things? Yeah, no thanks. I yank my wrist from Dan’s grasp and link arms with him instead. We run pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, our movements surprisingly synced, and step on the tag in the same moment. 

The world goes sideways and spins away.

OoOoO

“Are you alright?” Dan asks.

I crack one eye open. He’s crouched about a foot away, safely out of striking distance unless I really want to make an effort. Which I don’t. I groan and cover my face with my hands, refusing to move any more. Dan chuckles. 

“The first time through a link is the worst,” he says. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Ugh.”

He laughs again. “Take a minute. We’re safe for now. The sickness will pass.”

It does, eventually. I sit up and glare at him. He has the nerve to grin back.

“Why didn’t you warn me?” I demand.

He shrugs. “There wasn’t time.”

“That’s—“ I break off, scowling. “Okay. Fair enough. But, for the record? I hated that. A lot.”

“Noted.” He offers a hand. “Ready?”

With no memes on our tail, we can set our own pace. We pass GIFs and photographs of lions and mountains and forests, all marked with the same three tags: #bestrong #staysafe #knightblogger. Then comes the artwork—drawings, mostly—depicting a man dressed in medieval armor. He has a lion on his breastplate and his helmet is almost always cast aside, revealing a strong, square jaw, brilliant green eyes, and perfectly coiffed blond hair.

“Is that what your friend looks like?” I ask.

“Is it—no!” Dan huffs, voice rising in pitch on the denial. “That’s fan art. That’s what people have decided he looks like. The Knight Blogger stuff has been reblogged so many times that no one can seem to remember who started it. He’s a Tumblr legend now, and legends need to have faces. That’s the face people have picked.” He wrinkles his nose as we pass another drawing of the handsome Knight. “But that’s not what he looks like. At all.”

Fair enough. “So how did Knight Blogger get started?”

“It was supposed to be a way to reassure people. Waking up here, alone, with no memory is terrifying. He and I both know that. So he started blogging and reblogging and using the tags. Be strong. Stay safe. It’s encouraging. It helps people know that they aren’t alone here, that someone is coming to find them.” Dan smirks. “That someone is me, by the way.”

“And how do you do that?” I ask. “How do you know where people are?”

He shrugs. “People wake up and start walking, like you did. They inevitably pass a meme and, as soon as they do, every meme knows where they are.”

“What?” I frown. “That doesn’t make any sense. You’re not—“

“I am,” he says with a grin. It slips a bit and he waves a hand. “Apparently. I didn’t really know until I heard some of the Anons talking. Then I went looking, and I found actual memes of me.” He laughs and shakes his head. “Some residents call me the Hybrid—half human, half meme. To others, I’m the Lord of the Memes. Yeah, yeah, ridiculous. I know. In fact, it’s so ridiculous that it could only happen to me. I am literally a living meme.”

“Okay. You’re a meme.” Because sure. Why not? “What does that mean, exactly?”

“It means that I’m part of the Internet. Like I said, I just know when someone new wakes up here, and I immediately know how to find them. I’m the only person on Tumblr who can walk the Feed undetected. Memes won’t hunt me and they won’t attack me unprovoked. I can sense them, I can fight them, and I can tame them more easily than anyone else here.”

“Anyone else…are there other people living on Tumblr besides you, Knight Blogger, and the Anons?”

Dan nods. “The residents. They have their own blogs—their own domains—like Knight Blogger. They know who they are and can leave any time, but they choose not to.”

I mull that over as we continue on. Why would anyone choose to stay here? It’s mostly empty, the only things you can do are walk and look at pictures, and things—scary things—chase you. Not a great place, in my opinion. Still, it can’t be all bad. Dan knows who he is, yet he’s still here—and it’s not just to play hero. He’s nice, but I can’t imagine anyone being that selfless. So he’s choosing to stay. Interesting. I look at him, observing his stiff, wary posture and the pinched look around his eyes. He’s looking for the link that will get us to his friend and he’s clearly still on edge about the memes. I begin to wonder who he really is, this person I both know and don’t know, and what he might be running or hiding from in the world beyond the Internet.

It’s a shift in his posture that warns me: the straightening of his shoulders, the sharp intake of breath, the quick, worried flick of his eyes in my direction. We dive apart, landing on opposite sides of the One Does Not Simply meme as screeches and screams erupt from it in a geyser of inky black.

“Go!” Dan shouts.

I don’t need to be told twice. I leap to my feet and sprint away, stopping only when there are several platforms between me and the memes. When I look back, Dan is fighting them. He’s using a sword (A samurai sword. A freaking katana. Where the hell was he keeping that?) to cut them down, cleaving through necks and limbs and torsos with all the grace of an experienced master. The strangest part is that he’s yelling at the creatures, telling them to back down, back off, leave if they know what’s good for them. Some seem to take his threats seriously and slink back into the portal they came from, but most just growl and continue their assault, trying to slip around Dan and get at me. He mutters something I can’t hear and spins in a swirl of black fabric. The edge of his cloak moves in a neat arc behind him, slicing through a handful of memes as cleanly as his sword did. The horde shrieks and shrinks back as their wounded fellows collapse and melt away.

“We’re surrounded,” Dan says grimly when he reaches my side. 

Unfortunately, it’s true. There’s the group Dan was dealing with in front of us, snarling and regrouping and preparing to attack, and a second, slightly smaller group behind us, closing in fast. Nowhere to run. Fantastic.

“What do we do?”

“Good question. Take this,” Dan says, handing me a pouch from the depths of his cloak. I undo the laces and peer inside, then glance up sharply at Dan. Are these...? He smirks. “Try to space them evenly: three on the short side of the platform, four on the long. Just set them and they’ll stick. Oh, and turn the dial on each one until you hear it click.”

“Why?” I ask cautiously.

His grin is wild and touched with madness. Oh God, this guy’s insane! But there’s no time to question him or argue. The memes are closing in. I start setting the charges as instructed: equidistant around the perimeter, dials turned. Dan covers me while I work, wielding dual pistols and picking off enemies on either side. I take a moment to admire both his marksmanship and the sheer number of weapons he must be carrying. The guy’s a walking arsenal. 

The memes are close now. So close. Too close. I look at Dan, waiting for him to enact his master plan and…oh no. Oh no. The crazed look in his eyes is the only warning I have before he pulls a pair of grappling hooks from his belt, shoves them into the platform, grabs me around the waist, and leaps into the Void. 

Memes follow after us and I scream--oh boy, do I scream—right in his ear as we fall and fall and snap to a stop. We hang suspended in the blue, swinging on the ropes secured to Dan’s belt in the shadow of the platform. I gasp, disoriented, and tighten my arms around his neck, clinging to him for all I’m worth. The memes that leapt after us are still plummeting. I watch them go down and down and…shatter into a million little pixels that sparkle and shimmer and fade until nothing remains.

“Ugh. I think I’m deaf in my left ear now,” Dan mutters, wincing as he touches said ear. “Thanks for that.”

I relinquish my death grip long enough to smack the back of his head. “You deserve it, you idiot! A little warning next time, thanks!”

“Sure. Next time we’re in mortal danger, I’ll ask your permission before saving your life. Absolutely.” 

The sarcasm makes me want to smack him again, but I decide against it. We have bigger problems. Half of the memes just dissolved into pixels, but there are more up on the platform. I can hear them snarling and screeching, just waiting for us to return. Our weight shifts as Dan reaches for his belt. We swing a little, making the ropes creak. It is not a comforting sound. I grit my teeth and force myself to loosen my grip. I don’t want to strangle Dan, not really. He holds up the object he retrieved from his belt: a thin, rectangular box with a big, red button at its center.

“Would you like to do the honors?” he asks.

I accept the remote control—the detonator—and consider it for a moment. Would I? Yes. Of course. After all, who could resist a big, red button? My thumb hovers, presses down.

The explosion is deafening. I cling to Dan and he clings to me as the platform shakes above us. Screams and a wash of heat and flames, then sudden, deafening silence. Dan waits a heartbeat. Two. Then he pulls one arm from around me and clicks something on his belt. There’s a soft whir as the ropes are retracted and we rise up and up and up, back to the platform. 

There are scorch marks from the explosion, but it’s still intact. Smoldering, stinking, tar-like puddles are all that remain of the memes. Dan collects his grappling hooks and stows them away. We continue on.

It’s a relief when Dan finally sees it: the link that will get us to his friend. AmazingPhil. It’s familiar—so familiar—and I can almost see…black hair. Blue eyes. A crooked smile. 

Dan holds out a hand. “Ready?”

I nod. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Stuff:
> 
> I was introduced to Dan and Phil in November of last year. I'd been on the fringes of the Phandom for a while. I knew who Dan and Phil were, I'd just never watched their videos. My sister got really into them and was determined to get me obsessed, too. I swore I wouldn't get in too deep, but, well, here we are.
> 
> When I get really into something, my automatic reaction is "write fanfiction." When I started liking Dan and Phil, I kept telling myself to leave them alone, to not write anything about them, even in my head. Then they wrote fanfiction about themselves. I took that as a sign.
> 
> I wrote this chapter while listening to the Skyrim theme on a ten hour loop. The YouTube video is called "10:03:17 Hours of Skyrim main Theme Song !" Go enjoy.
> 
> I just really love Dan Howell, okay?


	2. Knight Blogger

We’re thrown from the link in a disorienting rush and I lose my grip on Dan.

I spin and spin and stumble and stop when I run into something. Hard. The impact jars me and it hurts, but I have enough presence of mind to throw my arms around whatever I’ve run into and cling. It’s tall and wide and sturdy, not giving an inch as I lean fully against it. Dan said I would get used to traveling through links. I don’t see how I possibly can. The ground is shifting and sliding beneath me; my head feels like it’s going to explode. I grit my teeth and grip my support, waiting out the sickness. 

My senses come back slowly. First is touch. Whatever I’m leaning against is rough, digging into my palms and my forehead, and grooved deeply enough to provide solid handholds. I wiggle my fingers, feeling the slight drag and scratch on my skin as they scrape against an uneven surface. It smells…earthy, I decide, though I only have the vaguest idea of what that actually means. The air is damp and fresh, carrying the scent of vegetation and recent rain. The taste of it sits on my tongue, cool and sweet. There are dozens of sounds all around me: chirps and flutters, rustles and squeaks. I exhale and open my eyes.

I’m standing near a path in the middle of a forest, surrounded by ancient-looking trees. They stand in close ranks around me, their boughs and leaves distant gray-green shadows, mist rolling over their thick, gnarled roots. I can hear running water somewhere nearby; birdsong fills the air. Animals move in the underbrush: a curious fox, a wary rabbit, two squirrels fighting over a nut. I step away from the tree I’ve been leaning on and turn in a slow circle, taking it all in.

“What is this place?” I wonder.

“Phil’s blog,” Dan says, pushing his fringe from his eyes. He pulls a face. “Sorry. Knight Blogger’s domain. We finally made it. We’re safe.”

The words are barely out of his mouth when something leaps from the underbrush, knocking me to the ground. It’s a three-headed dog and it’s massive, all coal-black fur and rippling muscles and glowing, molten-red eyes. It snarls and snaps its jaws at me, keeping me pinned with one giant paw. I stare up at it, wide-eyed, too scared to even scream.

“Hey!” Dan shouts, diverting the creature’s attention. “No! Bad dog! That is not how we greet guests!”

The beast whimpers and removes its paw from my chest, walking slowly toward Dan with its tail between its legs. I sit up, bewildered, and watch as the creature shrinks. Its fur grows lighter and lighter and its three heads merge into one, leaving a very familiar canine sitting penitently at Dan’s feet. Dan glares at it for a moment longer, then crouches and pets soft, tan fur.

“Aw, you didn’t mean it, did you? Who’s a good boy?” he coos. “Who’s a good shibe? You know you’re not supposed to attack guests. No more scaring Anon, okay?” He looks at me and pats the dog’s head. “You can pet him if you want.”

“That’s…“ I blink. I can’t possibly be seeing this right. “Dan, that’s Doge. That’s a meme. I don’t—“ Ugh. I don’t have words for this. “What the hell?”

“Lord of the Memes, remember?” Dan says. “I can tame them, sort of like Pokémon.” 

“Pokémon,” I repeat, deadpan. 

“Yeah, but instead of Pikachu, I have Doge.” He pats the meme once more and stands. “We have actual Pokémon, too. Keep an eye out for Charizard. He doesn’t really like visitors.”

“I…” No. No, don’t question it. “Okay. Charizard. Sure.”

Dan nods and looks at Doge. “Stay on guard. We dealt with the memes that were following us, but more might still come. Make sure none of them find their way in.”

The dog yips its understanding and shifts back to its three-headed form. It trots off with a harmonized howl, disappearing among the trees. When I’m sure it’s gone, I round on Dan.

“What do you mean more memes might come?” I demand. “You said we were safe here!”

“We are,” he replies. “We’re as safe as we possibly can be, but safety is relative on the Internet. Nothing has ever broken in here. That doesn’t mean it won’t. There are barriers that separate this blog from the rest of Tumblr, but memes are constantly trying to find a way through. You’ll probably hear them later. They like to work after dark.”

It’s already pretty dark now. Dusk is settling over the forest and shadows are growing among the trees. Bioluminescent fungi are coming to life in the gathering gloom, glowing bluish-green on either side of the path and out amidst the brush. There are lanterns hanging overhead, strung on chains hooked over branches. Their wicks ignite one by one, bathing everything in soft, flickering light. 

I blink, stunned. “It actually gets dark here.”

It feels like a foreign concept. The wilds of Tumblr were constant: just the blue of the Void and the white the Feed. Yes, the content had changed, but pictures, GIFs, text posts…there was no rhyme or reason to them, no way to measure the passage of time. Here, there is night and day, dark and light, cycles that reflect the world beyond the Internet. It’s so different from the emptiness I woke in. The change is more than welcome. 

“It does,” Dan agrees. “Phil—sorry, Knight Blogger, ugh—tries to keep his blog as similar to the Outside as possible. It helps people remember things faster, keeps them rooted, gives them the stability that they desperately need. It’s easy to lose track of yourself on the Internet. I’m sure you noticed. Time is meaningless out on the Feed and it’s so, so easy to forget that there’s anything beyond it. This place is different. It’s designed to help you remember—and you will. I promise.”

I smile, comforted by his conviction. He’s been right so far: little things—sights, sounds, smells, words—are triggering my memories. They’re coming back, bit by bit. Given enough time, I’m sure I’ll remember everything, and time is on my side. This place, this blog…I’m safe here. Dan is its guardian, and its creator is—

“Phil.” 

Dan looks at me. “What?”

“You keep correcting yourself and saying Knight Blogger. I know he likes to stay ‘cool’ and anonymous until you introduce him in person, but that’s kind of pointless now.”

“You remember him.” Not a question.

Mismatched socks and colorful shirts. Infections laughter. A smile. 

“I remember.”

Something large moves in the bushes behind me. I assume it’s the Cerberus Doge, circling back to report to Dan, but when I turn to look…eep. Tawny fur. Hundreds of pounds of muscle. Golden eyes that seem to pin me where I stand.

“Lion!” Dan says happily, running past me.

He drops to his knees and throws his arms around the lion’s neck, burying his face in its mane. The big cat lifts one massive paw and places it gently on Dan’s back. It purrs contently and leans into Dan’s touch, turning its head to nose at his hair.

“Stop that!” Dan laughs. The lion keeps sniffing and checking him over, moving from mussed brown hair to skin and black fabric. Dan dissolves into giggles as the big cat nuzzles its face into the crook of his neck and splutters in surprise as a large, pink tongue darts out to lick his face. “Gross! Did Phil tell you to do that?”

The lion whuffles softly. It sounds like a laugh.

“Oh he did, did he? I’m going to get him for that.” Dan stands, brushing dirt from his knees. “Where is he?”

The lion looks pointedly at me. Dan follows its gaze.

“It’s alright. She’s with me,” he says. “Anon, this is Lion. Lion, Anon.”

Pinned by golden eyes, I swallow. “Um…hi?”

The lion snorts, clearly unimpressed, and gives Dan a dubious look.

“Hey, be nice,” he admonishes, ruffling the big cat’s mane. “Stop stalling and take us to Phil.”

Lion stares at me for a moment longer, then turns and walks into the brush. There’s another path there, less obvious and less traveled, but easy enough to see. Dan walks beside the big cat, fingers tangled in its mane as he recounts our adventures on the Feed. I drift along behind, taking a moment to get my thoughts in order. I’m handling all of this very well, I think. Following a lion through someone’s blog isn’t so strange, not when I’ve just spent who-knows-how-long running away from memes. 

The trail leads us to a clearing, and it’s there that we find Phil. He’s a figure cloaked in deep-space black, surrounded by an array of digital screens that float in the gathering twilight. The fabric of his cloak is alive with thousands of glittering stars and multi-colored nebulae, seemingly made of the far reaches of outer space rather than simply made to look like it. Its edges rustle the tall grass as Phil moves, tapping this screen and that one, skimming information, moving on. He’s focused: expression flat and studious, eyes bright and sharp. There might as well be nothing in the world but him and those digital screens.

“Phil!”

The screens shatter to pixels and dissipate as his concentration breaks, but Phil doesn’t seem to care. He finally sees us—or Dan, at least—and starts moving toward us, face lighting up with a grin.

“You’re back!” Phil says, catching his friend in a hug that Dan returns strongly. “I was worried. You’ve been gone for ages!”

Laughter fades and there’s a pause. Warily, Dan asks, “How long, exactly?”

Phil pulls back, looks him over. Frowns. “You don’t know?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking, would I?”

There’s an edge to his words, a defensiveness meant to mask surprise and conceal fear. It doesn’t quite work. Of course, if I can sense what’s hidden in the question, Phil definitely can. He looks at Dan appraisingly, like he’s trying to decide if it’s something that should be addressed now or later. His eyes flicker to me, just for a second. He smiles.

“It doesn’t really matter how long you’ve been gone,” he says. That’s a lie. It clearly matters to both of them. They’re just not going to discuss it in front of me. Which is fine. I don’t know why it’s such a problem that Dan lost track of time on the Feed, and I don’t think I want to. Phil dials his smile up to a grin. “I’m just glad you’re back.”

It’s an honest statement, filled with the relief of someone who has spent too many hours worrying over a friend. Dan nods, exhaling some of the tension that has gathered in his shoulders. I can tell that he won’t let this go, but it seems like he’ll wait for his answers. He waves me forward and I move to join him, Lion a shadow at my heels. 

“Phil, this is Anon—Number Eighty-Seven, if I’m right. Anon, this is—“

“Dan!” Phil interrupts, dismayed. “Knight Blogger, remember?”

Dan rolls his eyes. “It’s a little late for that. I called you Phil twice, accidently, before we found you and she probably saw your name in the link before we came through. AmazingPhil. Not exactly subtle or mysterious. It doesn’t matter, anyway. She remembers you.”

Phil looks at me. “Really?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“What do you remember?”

“Um…” How do I explain? Until a few minutes ago, he was just vague images, sounds, and feelings inside my head. He looks exactly as I imagined he would: roughly Dan’s height with a similar haircut, but with blue eyes and black hair in place of brown. I remember sitting with him, listening to him tell stories and laugh—in my memories, he’s always laughing—at himself, the world, and life in general. ‘Phil’ and ‘happiness’ are basically synonymous to me, but I don’t think I should say that. It would be too weird. “I remember people like drawing you naked.”

Honestly, if I was going for ‘not weird’ I probably shouldn’t have said that, either.

Dan laughs. “Draw Phil Naked! A classic. Utterly iconic.”

Phil’s expression is somewhere between amused and uncomfortable. “Anything else?”

I shrug. Sure. There’s a lot of Phil-related stuff in my brain, all half-remembered and jumbled together with Dan-related stuff, and—wait. There’s something.

“I remember a black marker,” I say. “You guys drew on your faces with it. Something…cat whiskers?”

“Phil Is Not On Fire!” Phil grins.

“Also iconic,” Dan says. 

“You can remember some of our videos. That’s amazing!” Phil says, and he really does sound amazed. “People usually don’t know that much right away. Is it just us? Can you remember anything else from YouTube?”

Dan flinches and starts moving toward the tree line, mumbling something about checking the perimeter. I barely hear him. Videos? My stomach twists uncomfortably as dormant memories spring to life. I’ve never actually sat across from Dan or Phil, not in person. I’ve only watched their videos, over and over and over again, to the point where I feel like I know them.

“YouTube,” I mutter. Dan and Phil don’t know me. They’ve never even seen me before. “I’m an idiot.”

Dan…ugh. He told me that he didn’t know me, that I didn’t seem familiar to him, but he also said there were gaps in his memory. He let me hope, stupid as it was, that we did know each other, that he’d forgotten, that he was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t a lie, exactly, but it sure feels like one. I look for him, turning in time to watch as he grabs a branch, swings himself up and over, and disappears into the trees. I grit my teeth. He’s running away.

“Coward.”

There are harsher things I want to say, but I bite them back. I’m angry. Dan has been my only real source of stability so far and he’s running from this, from me. It probably isn’t fair for me to be so upset, but it isn’t fair for him to run, either. I deserve an explanation. 

“Oh no,” Phil sighs. He points to where I last saw Dan. “Lion, follow him, please. Anon, come with me.”

The big cat inclines its head and disappears into the forest. I turn and shuffle after Phil. Part of me wants to be defiant, to sit down in the clearing and pout and not move until Dan comes back and explains himself. That would be immature, though—ungrateful and counterproductive, too. Lie of omission or not, Dan did what he promised: he got me to Phil’s blog. I’m safe, and I’ll be allowed to stay here until I remember who I am. There’s no reason to feel so betrayed. I was the one who thought that I knew him. I believed he was my friend. He just didn’t tell me how I knew him, and how I really don’t.

“I’m sorry.”

Startled, I look at Phil. “Why? It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not Dan’s, either,” he says. “And it’s not yours. I’m guessing you recognized him out on the Feed. Some of the other Anons—the ones who came before you—recognized him, too. Dan realized he could use that to his advantage. When people don’t recognize him, they sometimes don’t trust him. He has to spend time convincing them that he really is trying to help, and by then the memes have found them. With people like you, he can sort of play along. You think you know him, so he can say, ‘you don’t seem familiar, but I’ve lost some memories, too. Maybe we do know each other’.”

I frown. “That’s a lie, though. He knew that I recognized him from YouTube.”

“It was…bending the truth,” Phil says diplomatically. “Yes, Dan knew that you probably recognized him from YouTube. There are gaps in his memory, though—neither of us remembers everything from the Outside—so he could say that without it being a total lie. We haven’t met an Anon yet who knows us personally outside the Internet, but it could happen.”

“Sure it could.” Anything is possible here. “I feel like an idiot, though. I actually thought I knew both of you.”

“I’m sorry you had to find out like that, especially so soon. I wish I hadn’t said anything about YouTube. I just thought…” He sighs. “Oh well. I really do wish you’d had a chance to remember on your own. It seems to be easier for people when they remember that way. I’m afraid we’re not off to a very good start.”

“It’s fine,” I shrug. “I just wish Dan would’ve stuck around to tell me this himself. Right now I sort of want to punch him.”

“Sounds like a good reason for him to keep running,” Phil says wryly.

“I wouldn’t hurt him,” I say. “I’d just smack him, maybe—really quick, it would barely sting—like I did when he made me jump off that platform without telling me what he was planning.”

“Ah. The ‘Jump and Explode’ maneuver.”

“He’s done it with you?”

“Twice.” Phil nods. He pulls a face. “I didn’t like it.”

“That makes two of us,” I say. “Do you usually go out on the Feed with him when he’s picking up a new Anon?”

“I used to, but we both decided it was better for me to stay here. Someone needs to guard the blog, and when I’m out there, I’m just one more person he has to look after.”

“Not much of a fighter?”

He shrugs. “Not really. I mean, I’m not bad, I’m just better on defense. I don’t mind staying here, making sure the barriers hold and looking after the Anons. It gives me time to expand things and make this place better.” 

“Expand?” I look around. There are trees and bushes and clinging vines everywhere with no clear end in sight. “How big is this place?”

“Pretty big,” he laughs, gesturing grandly. “Welcome to Philtopia! There’s the mountains to the west and the sea to the east, with the forest and grasslands between—and of course there’s the House as well. That’s where people like to stay, mostly. There are a lot of animals running around—none of them will hurt you, but they’re there—and it’s easy to get lost if you step off the path. There’s also the dragons and—did Dan warn you about the Pokémon?”

“Watch out for Charizard,” I say, echoing Dan’s advice from earlier. “Got it.”

Phil grins.

The dirt path slowly transitions to stone pavers and the forest gives way to hedgerows. We make our way through a well-kept garden, passing tidy, colorful flowerbeds and an assortment of ripening fruit trees. A menagerie of animal-shaped topiaries adds a whimsical touch to the lawn; its focal point—a hedge shaped like a llama—makes me smile. The House itself is massive: three stories high with a white exterior and so many windows that, from certain angles, it almost seems made out of glass. There are several balconies and at least six chimneys, but the mansion’s most interesting feature is its roof.

“Why is it like that?” I ask, pointing to the ramp-like protrusion. 

“That’s the owl slide,” Phil says, as if that’s any kind of explanation, and…oh. Wait. New memory. “Do you—?”

“I remember,” I say. “Sims 4. Dil. Owl slide. Love it.”

The garden becomes a courtyard of light-colored stone. We walk beside a reflecting pool, surrounded by large, decorative columns. Phil crouches near the water and dips his hands in, cupping the liquid like he might take a drink. He inspects it, nods, and flings his hands up, scattering the water into thousands of tiny droplets that rise and rise and rise until they settle as twinkling points of light in the darkening sky.

“It was too empty.” Phil shrugs at my incredulous look. He waves a hand at a bank of clouds, melting them away to reveal the full moon. “Needed more stars.” 

I swallow, blink, nod. “Okay.”

What else can I say, really? When Dan described this place as Phil’s domain, I wasn’t quite sure what he meant. Now I know. This place is whatever Phil wants it to be. He can shape every part of it, godlike, with only his imagination setting limits. 

From the courtyard we enter an atrium. It seems to be the central part of the House, the place from which everything else can be accessed. Columns stretch from the marble floor to the glass ceiling, making the space feel even grander; chandeliers hang at intervals, working with the moon and stars to light the cavernous room. Doorways on the left and right lead further into the House. Phil shows me to the kitchen, where he explains that I can have anything I want.

“Just think about it,” he says. “For example, I want…pizza.”

The oven lights up and beeps twice. Phil opens it. He winces at the heat that washes over his face and grabs a pair of oven mitts, reaching for the twelve-inch pie on the top rack. He cuts it and we each take a slice.

“Do we need to eat here?” I ask around a mouthful of baked dough and gooey cheese. “I don’t remember being hungry before, but…“

Sauce gathers at the corners of Phil’s lips and slides down toward his chin. He licks at some of it and catches more with his thumb before fumbling for a napkin.

“We don’t need to eat,” he says, wiping at his mouth, “and we don’t need to sleep, but it feels good and I think it helps.”

“With what?” I ask, though I’m sure I already know.

“Remembering things you’ve forgotten,” Phil says. “And remembering that there’s life beyond the Internet, that there is an Outside.”

“Do people really forget that?” 

I don’t know why I’m surprised. I woke up not knowing if there was anything beyond the Void and my platform. Now that I know there is, though, I can’t imagine ever forgetting. 

“Yes,” Phil says, nodding solemnly. “Here. Let me show you something.”

We go back to the atrium, into an alcove, and down a flight of stairs. At the bottom is a single door and through it lies the strangest room I think I’ve ever seen. It’s filled with clocks and mirrors. Everywhere I look, I see myself and all I can hear is ticking. It’s steady, repetitive, hypnotic. I walk forward, staring at my reflection. My own face doesn’t seem the slightest bit familiar. I poke at my cheeks, turn my head from side to side, fiddle with my hair. No memories are triggered. Nothing changes. I’m a stranger to myself.

“This room is the heartbeat of my little corner of Tumblr,” Phil says, coming to stand beside me. “It keeps time so I don’t have to. These clocks control the rising and setting of the sun. They remind me that time is passing, that I can’t stay here forever, that there’s something to get back to. I come down here when I’m trying to remember something new about the Outside or when the memories I have start to fade.”

I glance at him sharply, clutching my head in alarm. “That can happen?”

He nods. “It’s very easy to forget here. You’ll be fighting a constant battle: trying to remember who you are even as memories you’ve uncovered slip away. I’ll help as much as I can but…” he sighs, looking a bit helpless, “I’m sorry. It’s really going to be up to you.”

I look back at the mirror. I don’t know a thing about myself, but I could talk for hours about Phil Lester. I remember stories he’s told me, videos I’ve seen. He’s funny and quirky and incredibly kind. I trust him. I find myself smiling despite the strangeness of the room. If he says this place helps, I believe him.

We return to the atrium once more, and the tour begins in earnest. Phil shows me the Game Rooms first. We poke our heads into auditoriums dedicated to each of the major consoles and various PC games, stopping off at the Wii Room for a few rounds of Mario Kart. Phil takes the first round easily, but I edge him out in the second and then in the third. He calls for all or nothing. I accept. 

“No!” I shout, staring in disbelief as a blue shell launched by Phil himself throws my kart off course. His character speeds past mine, clinching the win. I round on him. “I want a rematch!”

Phil beams triumphantly. “Sure. Later, though, after Dan gets back. I’ll race you both, and I’ll win.”

I roll my eyes and shove him lightly as we leave to continue the tour. “In your dreams.”

Next come the Viewing Rooms, spacious theaters set aside for watching movies and TV.

“That’s where we watch anime,” Phil says, pointing directly ahead. “And that one’s for Pixar films. The one next to it plays all the Disney films you can imagine. Down there is where we watch Star Wars. Here’s the theater for Game of Thrones. The Lord of the Rings is around the corner and…”

It goes on and on. I can’t believe there are so many rooms. I saw the exterior of the House. It was big, but not this big, not big enough to contain dozens and dozens of theaters and still have room to spare. Phil shows me libraries I could get lost in and lounges for lazing around. We stop in one of several arcades— “for some fun,” Phil says, though it’s really so he can try to beat Dan’s high score in Pac-Man. He stays glued to that one machine while I move around, playing pinball and skee-ball and Dance Dance Revolution. Eventually, Phil concedes that today is not the day he will knock Dan from the top of the leaderboard.

“Soon, though,” he says as we pass through the atrium on one of the upper levels. “I was so close!”

I humor him with a smile.

Bedrooms are next. There’s a whole hall of them and Phil lets me have my pick. I spend ten minutes opening doors and evaluating color schemes before settling on a large room done up in shades of yellow and gray. My favorite features are the en-suite bathroom, the walk-in closet, and the French doors that lead out to a balcony. 

“Your closet’s sort of like the kitchen,” Phil tells me. “You can have anything you want. For example, you might want a scarf—a teal one, maybe. It’d compliment your shirt.”

He opens the door of my previously empty closet, revealing a bright teal scarf that does, in fact, go with my outfit. It looks almost comical sitting alone in a space big enough to qualify as another room. I snatch it up and put it on.

“So where are the other Anons?” I ask when we’re back in the hall. “Dan said there were a lot of them.”

“There were,” Phil agrees. “Some are still on Tumblr, living on their own blogs, but the rest have all gone home. When they remember who they are, I help them follow links to wherever their Internet presence is strongest. For Anon Sixty-Three, that was Instagram; Anon Eighty-Four went to DeviantArt. From there, it was just one more link, and they were back on the Outside.”

“So if you and Dan wanted to go home, you’d go to YouTube.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” I nod. “You know who you are and you know your way out. Why haven’t you taken it?”

Phil shifts, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “I…well, there are a lot of people to help, and…and we can’t just leave them. It wouldn’t be right!”

There’s some truth to that, I’m sure. It’s not the reason they’re still here, though, not the main one. I think of my time on the Feed with Dan, of the feeling that he was running, hiding, making excuses. Then, I couldn’t understand why anyone would want to stay on the Internet if they had another choice. Now, having seen Phil’s blog, I can see why it might be appealing. I still don’t fully understand, though. As wonderful and beautiful as this place is, none of it is real. Why would anyone choose to live a lie?

“This is my room,” Phil says, leading me a few doors down from mine. 

He seems eager to change the subject, so I let him. I play up my reaction to the vibrant décor, complimenting his choices of blues and greens and admiring his knickknacks and posters. Phil beams at me, looking relieved and almost grateful. When we run out of things to talk about in his room, we head across the hall to Dan’s.  
“It’s black,” I say, and it’s true. Bedspread, rug, furniture…all black.

“Like my soul,” Dan says, sauntering past. He throws his cloak over the back of a chair and sits on his bed to pull off his shoes. He looks at me. “What do you think?”

I think his soul’s about as black as sunshine and kittens, but I don’t say it. If being ‘dark’ is his thing, I’ll let him have it.

“It suits you,” I say, walking farther into the room. I sit on the bed beside him. “How was the perimeter check?”

“All clear,” Dan replies, tossing his shoes into a corner. He looks at Phil. “Why’d you send Lion after me?”

Phil shrugs, sitting on Dan’s other side. “I thought you’d like the company.”

“You thought I was upset.”

“You were.”

Dan frowns, shifting uncomfortably, and looks at me again. 

“We’re good. Phil explained everything,” I tell him. A pause, then I smack the back of his head. “Just don’t do that again. If there’s a problem, talk to me. I promise I’ll listen.”

“Phil’s better at explaining things,” Dan mutters, rubbing the site of the impact. At my frown, he hurries to add, “I understand, though. Next time there’s a problem, I’ll tell you myself.”

“Good.”

Dan smiles and lies back on the bed; after a moment, Phil and I join him. We stare up at the ceiling for a while, none of us saying a word. It’s the first real taste of relaxation I’ve had since waking up on the Feed. I sigh happily and close my eyes. 

“I invited the Council for dinner,” Phil says after a time.

“Socialization. Great.”

“I didn’t know you’d be back!” The mattress squeaks and shifts a bit. Phil must be moving, sitting up or something. I don’t open my eyes to check. When he speaks again, he keeps his voice low. “I didn’t know if you were coming back at all, Dan. We were going to plan a rescue mission.”

“Yes, because I was gone for so long. You’ve mentioned that already.” A pause, hesitation. “How long was it? Long enough to worry you, obviously.”

Silence.

“Phil.”

“Anon—“

“She’s asleep, Phil. Now tell me!”

A sigh. “Three weeks.”

“Three—!” Dan cuts himself off, lowering his voice from a shout to a panicked hiss. “Three weeks? I’ve never been gone longer than a few days!”

“And you didn’t feel it?” Phil sounds anxious, concerned. “You didn’t notice at all?”

“No.” There’s stunned disbelief in Dan’s voice. “No, I—“ He hesitates again. I can practically feel his indecision. Then, haltingly: “Phil, I think there’s something wrong. It wasn’t just the time I lost track of. I sort of lost track of myself. I…I started to forget things while I was out there. That’s never happened before.”

I remember his clenched jaw and the pinched look around his eyes, the tension in his shoulders that I attributed to being chased by memes. What if that wasn’t just the memes that had worried him? What if he’d been worried about losing his mind?

“Was it the Core?” Phil asks quietly.

I have no idea what that means. Dan is silent.

Phil sighs. “Alright. Maybe Jay or Min will have some ideas. We can ask them over dinner.”

“Sure. Great dinner conversation. ‘Hey, guys. Yeah, it’s me, back from three weeks on the Feed. Want to know something funny? I didn’t realize I was gone for so long and I started to forget things out there! Me, the Lord of the Memes, literally part of the Internet. Looks like the Core is coming for me after all!’”

“Stop it.”

“What? You know it’s true. All those invitations I’ve gotten, all the times I’ve said ‘no, thanks’, and it tried to hack me anyway.”

“You know what we have to do, then.”

“No.”

“Dan—“

“No!” It’s sharp, angry. Dan sighs. “Sorry, just…no. We’re not leaving. I can handle this, Phil. Everything’s been fine since I got back.”

“You’ve been back for an hour.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dan insists. “We’ll still talk to Jay and the others to see what they think, but I swear I’m okay now.”

A beat of silence. Then, quietly: “Alright.”

But it isn’t alright, and they both know it. I know it, too. Still, they’ve obviously reached an impasse. The bed shifts as they both settle down again. 

“When are they coming?” Dan asks. 

“Soon,” Phil replies.

The word is barely out of his mouth before a bell chimes. The three of us sit up simultaneously. Dan and Phil look at me, perhaps realizing that I wasn’t asleep after all. They don’t have time to address the issue, though. ‘Soon’ has come sooner than Phil thought. 

The guests have arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Stuff:
> 
> My sister got me into Dan and Phil with the Sims 4/Dil videos. She was on Episode 10 when I started watching them with her. By Episode 13, I was referring to Phil as my husband.
> 
> When I was writing this chapter, I tried looking for mystical, enchanted forest-like music to set the mood. It didn't help me at all, so I went back to the Skyrim theme. Just that, on loop for hours. Good times!


End file.
